Tension, Terror and Tedium
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Written for 06/06/06; Crowley, Aziraphale, and another Apocalypse. Apocalypse scenario borrowed from Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne.


Crowley, being a demon, was an expert at portraying every negative and questionable expression known to man. 'Smug' was an expression he nailed even before he acquired the variety of facial muscles known to a human. It also happened to be the expression he wore as the world ended.

Thus smug and content that the world was, in fact, going to Hell, Crowley took advantage of his flexible spine and practised slouching on an Olympic level, much to Aziraphale's displeasure. "So."

"So?" Aziraphale prompted, remembering about two milliseconds after doing so that prompting a demon wasn't the best idea, then deciding he didn't care anyway. An afternoon with fly-by visits from various harbingers of doom was a draining experience, especially after a theological discussion with Crowley as to whether all the drama would have come about without John's cave fungus induced ramblings centuries ago. Lunch at the Ritz had seemed a good idea earlier that day but the horsemen - now riding actual horses, thank goodness - were unsavoury characters at best, and any mild inklings towards eating food Pollution had been in a half-mile radius of went out the window when Babylon popped in. Crowley might well find the harlot entertaining company, but how in His name was one expected to keep their appetite knowing (or at least, suspecting, though he had yet to see purple fumes rising from said substance in day to day life) what filled her goblet? And she kept _drinking it_.

"So now what?"

"I suppose He will sort them out."

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, a futile but mysteriously cool gesture. "So now what will happen to us?"

"I suppose..." Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs, "I suppose He'll sort us out too."

"Sounds like fun. Remember how well that went last time?" Crowley replied with a small sneer, sitting up straight in his chair when Yaksini passed by the window. "She is looking hot."

"Famine's propaganda must be infectious," Aziraphale remarked in a tone that almost - but didn't quite, given the selfish issues implied - sounded sulky. "Not very intimidating without the bulk, is she?"

"That's bitchy for you," Crowley noted, looking at his nails before folding his arms. "Haven't seen her in years. Or in Europe, for that matter. Think we're winning?"

Aziraphale shrugged and rested his head in his hands. "The world isn't completely gone yet, I'm certain He must have something up His sleeve."

"No more thwarting for you either way." Crowley leant back in his seat, paused, then kicked his feet up onto the table. "Hey. It being the end of the world and all, can I ask you something?"

Aziraphale didn't think to be cautious. "Certainly."

"After the interbreeding issue, you lot had to stop making an effort, right?"

It was a lack of thinking he quickly regretted. "Yes."

"But you were quite fond of the effort, so what did you do to make up for it?"

Aziraphale went very still. "My wings. The, er, shafts."

"So if someone stroked them, you'd..?"

A blush now. "Yes."

Crowley folded his arms and smiled, satisfied. "That's good to know. Your turn."

"Do you have a tail?"

The demon fidgeted slightly, but given the way the horizon was starting to go vertical, there wasn't enough time to lie. Thankful for the absence of humans and the popularity of low slung jeans, Crowley let the appendage form and show.

"Ooh," said Aziraphale.

Crowley's wings were white and well groomed, but there was nothing angelic about the tail. Where it connected to his body it was the same colour as Crowley's skin, but towards the end it darkened to a livid purple. Scales covered everywhere, making it look a little like the back end of a snake, though in serpent form Crowley was a much more appealing colour. It also kept twitching.

"Lively, isn't it?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the tail. "Sodding thing has a life of its own, and it's not practical for trousers."

Aziraphale reached out and touched it, received a firm slap to the wrist for his efforts, although the tail apparently had different ideas to Crowley's hand because it wrapped around the angel's arm with some force, squeezing possessively. "Oh my. Either it's hungry or it likes me."

"I'm a demon, it could bloody well be both." Crowley's expression was sullen as he looked out of the window, resting his not quite as drunk as he'd like head in his hands. "Do me a favour."

"Hm?" Aziraphale seemed to be distracted by the sinuous movements of the tail around his arm. By Him above it was an ugly thing, though there was something quite flattering about its attentions.

"If They're planning another war, stay out of my way," Crowley's gaze returned to the angel, disturbingly honest. "I don't much fancy killing you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Aziraphale replied, carefully avoiding the demon's eyes as he took a turn to stare out the window, feeling the tail wind back down to his wrist. "I can't imagine them planning anything for a while. They'll have a lot of soul traffic to sort through first." His eyes widened with a sudden wince. "Oh, I do hope I won't have office duty when I return. I hate paperwork."

"I'm hoping for research and development," Crowley replied. "Picked up enough tips up here to last me... well, not eternity, but at least I'll be busy. Nothing worse than being stuck for things to do."

"Boredom is so tedious," Aziraphale concurred redundantly, retrieving his arm from Crowley's tail and petting it quickly when it seemed to go a tad limp and forlorn. "Sorry, I shouldn't be fraternising with the enemy."

"I'm up here," Muttered the demon, irritated by the fact his appendage was receiving more attention than him, before stopping still and blessing under his breath. "Hold that thought. I told Pollution I'd give him a call."

"Certainly, dear." The angel watched Crowley walk out onto the eerily empty street and take out a cell phone, decided against asking when, where, or why Pollution had acquired a mobile, and watched the demon pace away out of sight. Aziraphale didn't know the full details of Crowley's relationship with the abstract, but was quite content in his relatively ignorant bliss. Anyone else would have put together all the pieces - Crowley's ever filthy front path, the plastic bedding he kept aside for 'special visitors', the fact he'd actually turned down dinner at the Ritz on occasion - but being an angel, and absolutely not interested in the demon at all, Aziraphale tended towards ignoring the larger picture. Part of him questioned why Crowley would need to phone someone he'd spoken to less than an hour before, but the end of the world demanded leniency towards strange behaviour.

Moments later Crowley returned, leaning against the open door and frowning. "I think I'll miss that bastard."

"He's not going to Hell afterwards?" Aziraphale asked, biting back a 'language, dear'.

"No." The demon's tail twitched, as did his hands, fidgeting with discomfort. "He was made here, and it's where he's staying."

"Wouldn't that mean dying?"

"Technically he was never alive," Crowley replied before walking back to the table and sitting down, careful not to crush his tail beneath him. "Still, he ought to care more."

Aziraphale looked over his demonic companion, unable to repress the urge to comfort him, especially given there were no humans left to extend that favour to. "My dear, if he didn't care, he would not have asked you to phone him."

Crowley nodded and folded his arms on the table, rested his head on them. Despite all angels technically having the same birthdate, something about the extra worries and troubles demons carried gave them an edge of vulnerability that made them seem that little bit younger on an eternal scale. Perhaps eternity passed slower in Hell. "Mm. I know I'll miss your bullshit."

"Er." Aziraphale hesitated and decided against patting Crowley on the shoulder. "Thank you."

"Tell me something ineffable."

There was a long silence and Aziraphale found himself looking out of the window again, the sky darkened to near black as the world folded in on itself, before a small smile quirked his lips. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was a formless void, there was darkness -"

"Cheating bastard," Crowley interrupted with affectionate distaste.

"It passes the time. There was darkness over the deep, and God's spirit hovered over the water. God said, 'Let there be light', and there was light..."

Crowley closed his eyes against the familiar text, wondered why religious artifacts could hurt him but the word itself didn't, then figured it was too late to wonder. If the world was ending, he could think of a thousand questions, a thousand regrets, but he knew some things for certain.

God had been right when He saw that the earth was good. And as much as the creature sitting next to him was a frustration and a fool, no one came to mind - not even Pollution, as good a shag as the abstract was - who he would rather have shared it with.


End file.
